Following Orders

Chapter 5 Building and Tearing Down

Stadt was worried. No sooner did he get the trucks ready for the first load but the Americans emptied the storage tanks to move the fuel somewhere in Italy. He attempted to get a truck load of diesel oil, but as he had pointed out, people were everywhere around the terminal looking at paperwork. One of his men had a good idea. Since most of the trains now used diesels they might get the fuel at a marshalling yard. A quick check came up with nothing. The fuel tanks didn’t really hold more than a few days of fuel. There wouldn’t be enough and almost impossible to get without someone noticing. Everyone was frustrated.

Stadt couldn’t imagine that getting such a common fuel would be so difficult. The worst part was that the second group had no problem at all getting the nitric acid. He had figured that part would be the hardest. But by siphoning off only a truckload at a time the old fertilizer plant hadn’t even noticed.

He was pulling his truck into the station to pick up a load of waste oil when he noticed activity at the far storage area again. After pulling onto the loading ramp he set the brake and walked over to the old ramp supervisor who was taking down numbers.

“What’s going on over there?” Stadt asked innocently.

The old supervisor turned to look and spit on the ground. “The damned Americans are up to their old tricks. They demand we give them storage whenever they have a need. I was going to use those tanks to stock up more heating oil but now it’s too late. I hope the tanks rupture on them,” he said in disgust.

“What are they storing this time?” Stadt asked.

“Same thing, some of their special fuel.”

“Kerosene? What’s so special about that?”

The old man looked a little upset at having to answer all the questions. “How should I know? Maybe they use it to cook their sausages.”

Stadt saw the look on the old man’s face and backed off. He shook his head. “We would better use the heating oil,” he said in a disgusted tone.

The old man growled and turned away to register another truck that pulled up. Stadt stood staring at the activity in the far yard. Now they could get the fuel they needed. He would report to the General tonight.

The Anderson house had been a little disturbing to Dresner. He had thought they had found every place the old regime had built in this part of the country, but that had not been the case. Already there were rumors of hidden Nazi bunkers full of gold, money, even the Russian Amber Room from Leningrad. With everything else, he didn’t need that kind of headache. Luckily, no one seemed to pick up on the find. He had personally gone to the house with Al Anderson the day after it was opened. The cars caught his eye.

“These are beauties,” he exclaimed to Anderson.

Anderson slapped him on the back. “Brings back old times don’t they,” he said to his friend. “I already called the Daimler Benz plant. I’m getting them to come in and totally refurbish this one,” he said pointing to the Mercedes. “The Rolls I am getting checked out and reworked locally and the Volkswagen will be taken to Wolfsburg. They seemed very interested in getting it back there,” he said.

“It should be interesting to see who actually owned these things,” Dresner said staring at the tag number of the Mercedes. “I remember seeing these before the war. Seemed like all the big leaders had one,” he said. “I remember when…” Dresner stopped talking and stared again at the front of the car. He walked to the passenger seat, opened the door and stared up at the back of the windshield. There was a chrome hand hold above the visor. Then he looked at the floor of the car. There was a carpeted box just a few inches tall sticking out from under the seat.

Dresner closed his eyes as his mind flashed back twenty six years when he had taken a day from classes to go to see the parades. “Nuremburg,” he said slowly and softly with his eyes closed.

Al Anderson knew something was wrong. He reached out and took his friend by the arm to steady him if needed. Dresner’s eyes opened and he stared at his friend. There was fear in the eyes, something Anderson had never seen. “What’s wrong, Rolf?”

Dresner shook his head slowly almost wishing he had seen a mirage. “I could be mistaken, but I don’t think so,” he said quietly. “I have seen this car before,” he said.

“So?”

“You don’t understand. The last time I saw this car, it was taking Adolf Hitler through the streets of Nuremburg to the Nazi party rallies in 1936.”

Anna re-read the letter just before going to sleep. This one had arrived after only two weeks. With each letter Eric had grown deeper into her heart. The first one he had handed to her just before getting on the plane and returning home. It had promised at least one letter a week. He had doubled that. In the letters he shared his days and his feelings for her. If he continued that kind of communication after they were married, she would be very happy. Anna was thinking about marriage more and more often now. Though he had not formally asked her they both knew it was a matter of time.

Eric was also full of surprises. The first one was on the day she graduated from the university. Like all the graduates, she looked for her parents in the crowd. She was more than shocked when she saw Eric seated with them. It was almost all she could do to keep from breaking out of the line and rushing to him. After the ceremony when everyone met outside he was with them holding a large bouquet of roses. Unfortunately, he could only stay the weekend and then had to return home. She remembered how tired he looked when she saw him. But he brushed off her concerns and they spent as much time together as possible.

The second surprise was a simple phone call on her birthday. Overseas calls were terribly expensive, but he had done it just to hear the sound of her voice. Although it was only for about six minutes, she would never forget how good he sounded.

Anna folded the letter and put it in her bedside drawer along with the others. She had to get some sleep. Her job demanded concentration and she always gave 100 percent. She drifted off to sleep thinking abut how it felt with Eric’s arms around her and the kiss that always thrilled.

Dr. Ingles looked over the shoulder of the young technician as he put the finishing touches on the electronics. Things were so much more advanced than they had been during the war. Transistors were making things so much lighter and more efficient. The Americans had designed this package and despite all his tests, it had maintained its reliability. There had been six of the units on the truck they had stolen — just enough for their needs. The technician unplugged the test equipment and looked at the doctor. “It is working perfectly Herr Doctor,” he said.

“Very good. Have it installed immediately. When the others are checked get them installed as well. This is working out quite well,” the doctor said.

The electronics package was actually mounted on a ring so that it would better fit the machinery. It had taken some time to modify the package, but as long as it worked, it would not matter that they had made the changes. The use of the new unit had also meant that the power needs were changed. The voltages were much lower now and as a result, the battery life was greatly extended. Again, it hadn’t made that much difference since the unit would only be working for a short period of time, but it was one less headache in the process.

Doctor Ingles walked down the hall and knocked at a door. When he entered, General Hans Kammler looked up from the papers on his desk. His face was wrinkled and lined. There appeared to be little color in it, mostly because he had spent the past several years virtually underground. The doctor’s appearance brought a smile. “Herr Doctor, come in. How are the tests going?”

“Quite well Herr General. The first package has checked out and we are making the modifications and installing the new packages over the next few days. Within a week, everything will be ready,” said Ingles confidently.

Kammler smiled. “That is very good. Now if we can get our fuel, we should be ready for anything. My sources in the Soviet Union tell me the Cuban installations are nearly complete. I would say within a month, we will see some reaction.” The general came from behind his desk and placed his hand on the doctor’s shoulders. “After all these years our patience will pay off, my friend. Soon there will be a new world order, and we shall be at the top,” he said cordially. The two men had been working together since before the war ended and they both savored the coming victory for the New Reich.

The young accountant checked the figures for the tenth time and sat back and rubbed his chin. For some reason the plant had used twice the nitric acid they normally used to produce fertilizer in August. Then in September the usage rate had returned to normal. There was no indication in the records for the additional use and since it returned to normal it probably wasn’t a leak. There was probably some explanation but it was his job to make sure.

The Prost Chemical Plant had been making fertilizer and a few other agricultural products sine 1898. It was a family business and the Prost family had a reputation for being what the English would call the Ebenezer Scrooge of fertilizer. If there was a penny to be saved, they would do it. This didn’t mean the products were shoddy. On the contrary, the company’s agricultural products were the best around and the penny pinching was passed to the customers instead of into the owner’s pockets. To save on some costs it was found they could rely on suppliers to make sure the raw materials were on hand in sufficient quantities to maintain production. When levels went down, deliveries were increased or decreased to maintain those levels.

It didn’t take long before the accountant’s discovery was on the desk of Wilhelm Prost, the great grandson of the founder and president of the company. “Did you check with the supplier to verify the figures?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, Herr Prost. We also inspected the system to make sure there hadn’t been any leaks. We could find no explanation at all,” said Fredrick Papen, his vice president for logistics. “That’s why I came to you. I don’t know who would need it, but it appears we have had a theft.”

Prost sat back in his chair for a moment. “But what else can you use nitric acid for?” he pondered.

Papen thought a moment. “Well, you can etch glass with it. You can use it on metals. You clean things with it, but not at that strength. Besides chemicals, there is not much use, especially around here,” he said.

Prost nodded. “Yes, but look at the amount. That could only mean an industrial use unless you wanted to dissolve a building.” That thought sparked his imagination. “Do you suppose someone might be planning some sort of sabotage? Use it on a dam or bridge?” he asked suddenly concerned.

“But here? If the Soviets were planning something, they wouldn’t be here, and they wouldn’t need to steal it,” Papen said.

“Yes, but there are all sorts of small groups that might start something. This isn’t some sort of theft of a tool or a bag of fertilizer for a garden. It is thousands of gallons of acid. I think we’ll call this one in to the police,” Prost said. He picked up the phone and dialed the number himself.

Kurt Dresner was not having a good month. Besides his normal work routine, his office was still searching for a downed helicopter pilot who went missing six weeks before. The Americans were still scouring the area for a missing truck filled with spare parts for their military and now he was on his way to the fertilizer plant where it appeared someone stole a lake full of acid. The only good thing for the month was that his friend Al Anderson was finishing up his house, despite finding out about two of his cars.

The Mercedes had indeed been purchased by the German government in 1936 for Hitler, and it had been used until the war when it appeared to have been lost in the myriad of vehicles owned by the government. Why it had turned up here had been a mystery until the Volkswagen arrived in Wolfsburg. Someone checked the serial numbers and tag on it as well. It had been presented to Hitler by Ferdinand Porsche as the first “People’s Car” to come rolling out of the plant. There were even photos of it during the presentation and with Hitler riding in it.

The Rolls had no documentation at all. With two cars belonging to Hitler in one place, Dresner agreed with Anderson that this was some sort of getaway house and speculated that the house might have been for Borman or one of the other high party leaders who went missing after the war. It really made no difference. It had been seventeen years since the war ended. Hitler’s own home, as with many of the Nazi hierarchy, was a bombed out cinder. Anderson agreed. He decided that the cars belonged in a museum and gave them to the respective companies.

As for the house itself, Dresner had been genuinely impressed. Using a small army of workers, Anderson and his wife had transformed the place into a palace. Dresner chuckled to himself that only an American would get that enthusiastic over an old stone building. But it would be very nice having his friend living in the area. They had already planned on taking some excursions to see some of the places they had shut down after the war. In about three weeks his son Eric would be coming to see the new house and work in their European office a while. Maybe the workload would lighten by that time.

The Prost Chemical Company was a lump of metal that marred almost all the valley floor. There wasn’t much color. The brick and metal sides of the building were discolored from years of smoky abuse. What was once painted was now a dingy gray that was streaked from fall rains. Some said even the snow on the peaks surrounding the plant was an ashen mix of gray and brown.

Dresner drove through the gate and parked in a visitor’s spot. He was escorted to Herr Prost’s office quickly and efficiently. Prost was at his desk waiting. He got up and shook Dresner’s hand.

“I’m sorry to have to call you Rolf, but it appears we have had a theft.” Prost knew everyone in Innsbruck and he had made sure to make friends with the local police along the way. Although he and Dresner would occasionally share a beer, they were not close friends.

Dresner looked around the office. The furniture was at least ten years old and in some places a little worn. The desk had neat stacks of files with what was probably exactly three inches of space between the stacks. There were windows behind his desk, but they were shuttered closed. The fluorescent desk lamp bolted to the desk glowed, casting a blue-green tint to the surroundings. Dresner saw efficiency, but not much imagination. Since Prost had remained standing he also knew this would be a quick meeting. “Please tell me what led you to that conclusion,” Dresner said.

Prost handed over a file with copies of the accounting and supply documents and explained their thought process. Dresner took some notes and flipped quickly through the documents before placing them in his briefcase.

“That is what we have Inspector. You have open access to our facilities and I ask that you keep us informed as to your progress. Do you have questions?” Prost asked.

Dresner nodded briefly. “I agree with your conclusion and will possibly have hundreds of questions, but not involving you Herr Prost. First I shall speak to your security team and then the supply accountants involved. I will be happy to provide you with the outcome of the investigation and will contact you if I acquire any difficulties,” he said officially. Then he smiled lightly. “I am certain we shall get to the bottom of this. With luck I shall have an answer for you soon,” he said extending his hand. Prost shook it again and returned to his desk. Dresner left the office and the secretary ushered him to the office of the Chief of Security.

Joachim Mantz welcomed Dresner into his office and the two sat down. Mantz was in his forties but was as fit as any youth. His file said he was from a small town in eastern Austria and had been drafted into the army during the war. Outwardly he was a jovial man who loved to laugh. His handshake would crush rocks and Dresner noticed a small orange discoloration on his hand as he extended it. “Herr Prost said someone would be coming over. My staff is yours whenever you need them,” he said warmly.

Dresner smiled and waved a hand. “Nothing that serious. I really need to know what kind of procedures are in place to prevent a theft like this from happening. Can you take me around to see the area and show me your operations?”

Mantz rose and escorted Dresner to a waiting golf cart. The cart whisked them between buildings to the rail yard. In a far corner, there were three refrigerated tanker rail carriers lined up in front of a tank and a set of pumps. The road ran to the other side of the pumps where there were connections to fill or empty trucks as well. One of the rail cars was next to the pumps offloading acid.

“The trains pull through that gate down there and are pushed to this position. They are here about 48 hours and then the empty cars are taken out and new ones brought in. A supplier representative is supposed to come in once a week and measure the amount in the main tank. He varies the amount delivered depending on how much is in the tank,” Mantz said. “Our logistics people couple the cars to the drains for pumping and pump until the tank is full or the cars are empty. This takes about a day. The train comes a day later and takes the empty cars away. Any partially emptied cars are left till the next shipment. Our people open the gates for the train and are here for all the deliveries,” Mantz said.

“What about when the trains aren’t here and your people aren’t pumping?” Dresner asked.

Mantz ran his hand through his graying hair. “Actually, we don’t stand a guard on it. This stuff will eat a man alive within a few minutes so no one really wants to be around it. Look at this,” he said as he led Dresner over to the platform. The workman was dressed in a rubberized suit and there was a mist of water above him. He warned them back from the platform.

“See the water mist? We keep it on all the time someone is there just to dilute anything that might spill. It also keeps the fumes down. In an emergency, the worker grabs that lever and pulls it. The mist becomes a forceful spray where any acid can be washed away quickly. You can see why no one really wants to be around here,” Mantz explained.

Dresner nodded. The idea of getting splashed by something that would eat you alive frightened the hell out of him. “Is there a watchtower in the yard?”

Mantz pointed to what looked like a camera on a pole nearby. “There are eight cameras in the yard and I have a man with a remote control for the water sitting in an office. He watches anyone out here.”

Dresner nodded. “I’ll need to talk to the operators, but this looks pretty good to me,” he said. Dresner doubted people really watched what was going on, especially when no one was supposed to be there, but for now he would take the man’s word it was done. Before he left, Dresner looked at the level marker on the side of the tank next to the steel ladder. It looked like any normal level indicator and when he tried to move it, he could feel when the float inside touched the liquid. Then he climbed to the top of the tank and looked at how it went inside. As he climbed, he noticed the rubberized metal cable seemed to be crimped about two thirds of the way up. At the top, the metal was very corroded except for one place where the tube going into the tank looked slightly pressed together. In the flat areas there were teeth marks from some metal tool. There were more marks around the top of the tube where it looked like someone had tried to straighten it back out as much as possible. Taking mental notes, he looked down at Mantz. “This is a simple float mechanism,” he asked.

Mantz nodded. “Plastic that is weighted so that it can’t come up and won’t sink. We have to change the pulleys and the cable about once every two years or so,” he yelled back.

Dresner quickly descended and looked at Mantz. “Not much to see up there. Let’s keep going,” he said.

The tours and interviews continued all afternoon. By the time he left for the day Dresner knew there was something wrong. The answers were too easy and he had seen some physical evidence that indicated someone was lying through his teeth.

It had taken a few nights to get the valves lined up and changed to look closed when they were actually open. Working in darkness except for a small pencil flashlight, Stadt had finally gotten things going. While people were working feverishly loading and unloading tanker trucks in the fueling part of the yard, Stadt was actually behind a small hill and had attached a hose to his truck from the waste oil platform. He worked alone and when anyone came by it looked exactly like he was draining the waste oil from a sludge tank for hauling away. Instead, he had tapped into a line leading directly from the RP-1 storage tanks on the other side of the berm.

Stadt was tired. It meant a double shift since he still had to make sure the waste oil was taken to the centrifuge for recycling. But the first trip was always with the prime fuel. He was passed through the gate with hardly a notice and quickly drove the twenty miles to the mountain where the fueling lines were hidden. Once drained, he made it back and came out with the sludge to deliver. People didn’t care about the sludge tank or what he was doing. They were more concerned with the trucks with fuel in them.

He had made five runs so far. Three more and he would be done. As he began offloading the sludge into the recycling center tanks he thought about his son, Fredrich. He was very proud of his son. Fredrich was an honor student in school and was a very good football player. He also loved skiing and skating. Most of the time Stadt remembered a happy child, without a care, who was very willing to try anything. He was particularly happy when it pleased his father.

But recently things had changed. Fredrich had become more serious and more secluded. He spent most of his time in his room. It had begun when he had insisted Fredrich begin going to the Party meetings. Stadt had been free to share his ideals with his son and this was the natural step for him to take. Unfortunately, the schools had some other ideas of what should happen in the world and he was sure this had caused a small conflict with Fredrich. Nevertheless, his son would quickly learn the benefits of the Party and how it was a strong influence on a man. Fredrich would come to accept what he had accepted long ago — strict obedience and true loyalty. The Party would make his son and Germany proud again.

The tanker emptied and Stadt used the flushing system to clean out the residual waste oil. His tank would have to be clean for the next run. When everything was finally disconnected, he left to get four hours of sleep at home before starting again in the morning.

Al Anderson had a passion for automobiles. He had already restored the now lone Rolls in his garage, but there was room for more and he knew exactly what would go in it. Now he was at the train station as they offloaded the car he wanted to “cruise” in.

There was a crowd gathering as they rolled a 1962 Pontiac Bonneville convertible off the rail car and onto the siding. The country inspections had already been performed and the tag placed on the car in Hamburg, where the car entered Germany. Some time was taken as a small group of men removed the protective sheets of plastic and paper from the interior and exterior of the car. Once removed, they revealed a very sleek grenadier red car with a white top and a white custom leather interior. The chrome shined brilliantly in the late afternoon sun as the crew gave it a quick wash, attached the battery cables and fueled it from a large can.

Anderson inspected the car and finally signed off on the receipt. Then he climbed into the front seat, started the big 389 cubic inch V-8, let the top down and drove it through the gates and onto the street. Pulling into the first petrol station he saw, Anderson filled the tank and then drove the wide-trac Pontiac through Innsbruck. As expected, heads turned as the long, sleek car noiselessly moved through traffic. For many it was the first time they had seen such an American car. Al loved it.

The trip through the countryside to get to his new home was just as exhilarating. Giving the car some gas, the engine responded effortlessly and the Hydra-Matic transmission had no troubles with the hills and curves. Where most European cars had to work the roads, this car had muscle and Anderson wanted to show it off. He sat back and savored the ride. As it got cooler, he simply turned on the heater and kept the top down.

Pulling through the tunnel, Anderson made his way along the now graveled and manicured road and entered the courtyard of the house. The weeds and grasses were gone and he had returned the courtyard to its original look, with white pea gravel everywhere. The house was now a pure white and the few blemishes that had been in the walls were nowhere to be seen. The front doors had been replaced but two gas fed lanterns framed the doorway and gave light to the surrounding area.

Anderson stopped the car at the doors and blew the horn. In a moment, Mary and his daughter Kate came bounding out. Mary placed her hands in her face, “It’s gorgeous,” she said as she looked over the car.

“You should have seen the people staring,” he said.

“I bet!” said Mary as she walked around the car and sat in the passenger seat. “Oh, these seats feel nice,” she said as she rubbed her hand along the back of the seat.

“It rides good too,” Al said. He was pushed aside as Kate opened the driver side door and climbed in behind the wheel.

“What car are you two going to drive?” she asked running her hands around the steering wheel.

“Not yet little girl. I want to break it in first, but it won’t take too long. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather use a Volkswagen?” he asked with a smirk.

“Oh Daddy! I would rather have one of those BMWs,” she said.

“You’ll be lucky if I don’t get you one of those Messerschmitts,” he said to her giving her his stern look. Messerschmitt was producing a small two seat cigar shaped car with bug eyes. The roof hinged at one side for the occupants to get in. It was definitely not what Kate was looking for.

Kate poked out her lower lip but returned to admiring the car. Back home for her 16^th birthday her father had given her a Pontiac Tempest. It was plain to see her taste in cars was going up.

“Come on in. Helga has supper ready,” Mary said. “We can take a ride tomorrow.”

Al moved the car to an empty place in the garage and closed the door. Crossing the courtyard he entered the house along with his wife and daughter.

The transformation of the house had just been completed. Entering the great hall the walls had been scrubbed clean and looked much the same, but the floors had been ground smooth and polished till the shine was deep and rich. The old leather Tyrolean furniture had been replaced by a four-piece sectional sofa, soft leather easy chairs and pillows. There was a Persian rug on the floor in front of the couch and chairs. On it was a glass coffee table. The pillows were arrayed around the area for additional seating as needed. On one side was a console stereo system. The sconces, which once were a hand holding a torch, had been replaced with shiny brass twin candle fixtures on dimmers so that the mood of the room could be changed. In the dining room, the long table was still there, but the chairs had been replaced with something more modern and definitely more comfortable. Behind the dining room, walls had been knocked out to expand the entire space. Now the kitchen was visible and the smells for the meal filled the rooms.

Helga Huffham had been hired a month before to prepare the meals and do light housework. A widow of the war, the job had been the first meaningful full-time employment she had been able to get. Helga was middle aged and always wore traditional Tyrolean dress with an apron. She was a happy soul, always smiling and ready for a small joke. Her presence brightened the place wherever she went.

Mary had hired Helga. They became friends immediately. More often than not Mary was in the kitchen with her preparing a meal, sharing a recipe or making some of the little decorations that spruced up the house for the coming season. Helga was given a small set of rooms in the house as a part of her employment. On occasion, her family would come to the house and visit. They would immediately become a part of the Anderson family.

Hans Kemper was the exact opposite. He had come to them from an agency and had proved himself an efficient butler and gardener. But where Helga joked with Mary, Hans never cracked a smile. He was always serious and almost mechanical about his work. The only time he showed any emotion was when a particular job was completed to his satisfaction. He also had a set of rooms and both he and Helga could come and go as they pleased. They had the weekends off and one additional night off where they could go out.

Hans had the places set when the family arrived and Helga brought in the last of the food. The family sat down to eat and invited the two to dine with them. As usual both declined. Hans took his meal with Helga in the kitchen.

The meal itself was tremendous. Helga loved cooking and always had plenty. Tonight they had roast pork, her special recipe for peas in an onion sauce and carrots cooked in orange juice. The bread was always fresh and dessert was an apple pie Mary had baked.

After the meal, the Andersons went to the kitchen to praise Helga on the meal and to help with the dishes. This was the first time Helga had gotten to know Americans other than the soldiers after the war. The soldiers had been a happy and considerate group. Often she saw them pitching in to help or being courteous to someone. There had been some problems with a few, but by in large they were good people. The Andersons were unlike anyone she had ever met. Where most people treated servants with distant courtesy, the Andersons welcomed her as a part of the family. They didn’t just sit back and let her do all the work. On the contrary, they pitched in to make the big house a home. Even their daughter would come in and help around the kitchen or get some things from her garden.

One day her sole surviving brother and his children came for a visit. Mary made a special trip to town to get things to spruce up their rooms and Helga found she had no work to do. Mr. Anderson had set up the grill on the back patio and they grilled steaks for everyone. Her brother was the last of three boys. The others had been killed in the war. He had served in the Luftwaffe and flew fighters. He and Al had spent the entire evening sharing war stories and becoming good friends. Her brother later told her he had been a little hesitant to come, but now he was looking forward to visiting again and again. It was the first time Helga had felt like she had a family since before the war. If Americans were all like the Andersons, she was sorry for any bad feelings about losing her family.

Hans always kept to himself in his rooms. He seemed to always be somewhere nearby waiting for a call or just watching what was going on. He could usually be found in his room reading and listening to the radio. When everyone was having a good time, he was sitting alone or watching from a distance. Al could never seem to crack his demeanor.

After dinner, the Andersons moved to the great hall. A gas fire was lit and someone put some music on the stereo. Al sat back in an easy chair while Mary relaxed on one end of the couch with a book. Kate sat reading a magazine by the fire and Helga pulled up her sewing table and began working on a dress she was making for one of her grandchildren. The warmth of the fire spread slowly through the room and there was occasional conversation. But in all it was a simple, peaceful night.